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Topics About Which I Know Nothing
Patrick Ness
Scintillating, surprising, inventive fiction from one of the most talented writers in Britain – this is a superb collection of short stories from the acclaimed author of the Chaos Walking series and ‘More Than This’.Have you heard the urban myth about Jesus's double-jointed elbows yet? 100% true. Or seen the latest reports on the 'groomgrabbing' trend – the benevolent kidnapping of badly-dressed children by their well-meaning (and more dapper) elders? Heard the one about the Amazon from the Isle of Man? Or perhaps you'd like a job in telesales, offering self-defence classes over the phone? Don't worry, as long as you meet the weekly quota, you won't be sent to the end of the hall…Wonderfully original, fresh and funny, Topics About Which I Know Nothing is stuffed to the gills with dizzyingly inventive writing and warming, puzzling emotions – a fictional guide to how the world might have turned out.
From the reviews of Topics About Which I Know Nothing: (#ulink_026bdb43-058e-57c0-86e8-a95c15c4f41b)
‘Here are 10 short fictions, each of which works as a showcase for Ness’s highly quirky imagination … Each story is a tasty titbit, to be savoured briefly before moving on to the next one. What makes these stories so delightful is that there actually is something very substantial at work behind them, however airy they seem at first. They’ll lodge in the mind.’ Guardian
‘Ness’s first collection brims with inventiveness and creative audacity.’ Daily Telegraph
‘Ness’s take on the absurd and offbeat is sharp, intelligent and funny.’ Time Out
‘Remarkable, an extraordinary, yet utterly convincing creation.’ Scotsman
‘Sparkling humour … Ness has a wonderful imagination: creative, unpretentious and pleasingly bonkers.’ Metro
‘Very, very funny … a unique comic manifesto from a very talented newcomer.’ Daily Express
For Vicki Burrows, Belle of Puyallup
We’ve got so many tchotchkes,
We’ve practically emptied the Louvre.
In most of our palaces,
There’s hardly room to manoeuvre.
Well, I shan’t go to Bali today,
I must stay home and Hoovre
Up the gold dust.
That doesn’t mean we’re in love.
The Magnetic Fields
Contents
Cover (#ufcc35c1b-c11d-58c8-bf46-b1943ad47fa4)
Title Page (#u19d17160-9e03-5b8b-8a01-f3a6cc2d1153)
From the reviews of Topics About Which I Know Nothing (#u19fcadc0-ebf5-51da-b535-0d5ec0b3d5f2)
Dedication (#u0e16ba2e-6700-5e18-af03-8ddb9b59be64)
Epigraph (#ufcb81805-2fc5-5fca-b1da-430d18947023)
Introduction to the New Edition (#u2b76fb85-9398-5ecf-ac16-6af8d8fd1e2c)
Implied Violence (#u0ab14b1f-72f8-5685-b1b2-17bac92bab1d)
The Way All Trends Do (#ud41de6c1-3006-58ed-a061-a48225ee9659)
Ponce de Leon is a Retired Married Couple From Toronto (#u2b04ec37-c15b-5e86-9755-f2ea964ce781)
Jesus’ Elbows and Other Christian Urban Myths (#litres_trial_promo)
Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes? (#litres_trial_promo)
Sydney is a City of Jaywalkers (#litres_trial_promo)
2,115 Opportunities (#litres_trial_promo)
The Motivations of Sally Rae Wentworth, Amazon (#litres_trial_promo)
The Seventh International Military War Games Dance Committee Quadrennial Competition and Jamboree (#litres_trial_promo)
The Gifted (#litres_trial_promo)
Now That You’ve Died (#litres_trial_promo)
Notes and Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the same author (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Introduction to the New Edition (#ulink_9710f7a5-85fc-5a61-ab1c-0a01139aae6b)
You always love the awkward child best, don’t you?
I get asked all the time (by teens in particular) what’s my favourite book of the ones I’ve written. I always answer that it’s the same as asking your parents if they have a favourite child: you know they have one, but they’re never going to admit it.
But Topics About Which I Know Nothing has a bit of a special place for me (not least that it taught me never to have a comedy title; funny the first time, but 500 times later…). Because these are all stories I wrote on the real expectation that no one would ever read them, and if that were true, then I could just have loads of fun amusing myself and seeing if I could get away with murder. With some of these, perhaps, it’s a close call.
‘Sally Rae Wentworth’ (even with its slightly imperfect grasp of geography) is still one of my secret favourite children. ‘The Gifted’, too – a rare instance of autobiographical writing (to an obvious point). ‘Quis Custodiet’ goes all the way back to my college writing classes with T. C. Boyle (if heavily revised), and ‘Sydney is a City of Jaywalkers’ is my first published piece of writing ever.
I love short stories and have kept on writing them. The new story in this collection, ‘Now That You’ve Died’, was written as a commission for the Royal National Institute of Blind People for ‘Read for RNIB Day’ (readforrnib.org.uk, which gets many more books into the hands of blind and partially sighted people). It was recorded as an immersive play, so imagine it in complete darkness, read to you in the terrifying and majestic tones of Christopher Eccleston.
In fact, that’s a good way to imagine pretty much any story, including the ones here. The original notes at the end thank the good and fine people at the much-missed Flamingo imprint, and I remain forever grateful to them for giving my awkward child such a good home.
London, 2014
implied violence (#ulink_b440b437-f4b7-5965-a743-80f5f4e50b26)
1
‘Implied violence,’ says the boss, ‘is our bread and butter.’
He means implied violence is what we sell, which it isn’t, we sell self-defence courses over the phone, but the boss likes to think in themes. He’s talking to the new girl, Tammy, which sounds American to me. I’ll have to ask Percy.
‘I don’t like to say we need to frighten our customers,’ says the boss, looking down at Tammy who is looking right back up at the boss, ‘but let me put it this way: we need to frighten our customers.’ This makes the boss laugh. Tammy laughs as well, too loud and too long. I look over to Maryam from Africa who meets my gaze.
There are only three of us, now four, who work in this little room, but we all wear nametags. Mine says my name, Maryam from Africa’s says hers, and Percy’s says his, but I notice that Tammy’s says ‘Terrific Tammy’. I look back at Maryam. She’s noticed it, too. She rolls her eyes as Tammy’s laugh just goes on and on.
2
On one side of me sits Percy. Percy is a very large bloke who falls over a lot. ‘I have an inner-ear problem,’ he says. Percy calls himself my mate.
On the other side of me is Maryam from Africa. Maryam from Africa is from Africa. I’m not sure which part, because I didn’t think you were supposed to ask. I’m not sure how to pronounce her name exactly either, because she says it in her accent and you can’t really ask her to repeat it. She frowns all the time but is not a mean person and doesn’t mind, I don’t think, that I just call her Maryam. She must be about fifty or so, but I wouldn’t be surprised at anything in a twenty-five-year range above or below that.
The three of us sit in a line facing one wall of our room, Maryam by the door, me, then Percy by the window. It’s one long desk with a computer, telephone and headset for each of us, but dividers separate us so we can have privacy to talk to potential customers. Behind us, there used to be only a wall, but now they’ve put Tammy at a card table against it. There isn’t very much room, so Tammy’s facing the window, and our backs are facing her side.
Why did they put her in here? There’s only room for three.
‘There’s only room for three,’ whispers Percy, but he has to lean towards me to do this and he falls off his stool. ‘I have an inner-ear problem,’ he says to Tammy and the boss, standing back up. ‘It affects my balance.’
3
‘Everyone here has a sales quota,’ says the boss. ‘It’s not a bad one, not a very high one, but it’s important that you meet it each week.’
Tammy nods. I don’t like the way she nods.
‘Because if you don’t,’ the boss puts his face close to Tammy’s, ‘we’ll have to send you to the end of the hall.’
Tammy laughs. No one else does. The boss smiles, but it’s not a laughing kind of smile.
‘And what’s at the end of the hall?’ says Tammy, still thinking it’s all for fun.
‘Only people who don’t meet their quota ever find out,’ says the boss.
‘And no one’s returned to tell the tale?’ Still smiling, still laughing.
‘I’m sure you’ll meet your quota just fine.’
Tammy’s forehead wrinkles a bit at how seriously the boss says this. She opens her mouth again but then closes it.
‘You’ve already met your colleagues, yes?’ The boss gestures towards the three of us on this side of the room. We all nod.
‘They introduced themselves this morning when I came in,’ says Tammy.
That was only because we were discussing why there was a card table with a new computer, a new phone and a new headset crammed in the corner where Percy used to slide his chair back when he needed a few minutes’ break. In walked Tammy. The room was too small not to say hello.
‘Boss?’ says Percy.
‘Yes, Percival,’ says the boss.
(‘Everyone calls me Percy,’ Percy said to Tammy this morning.)
‘I’m wondering if Tammy’s going to be, you know, comfortable.’
‘Comfortable?’ says the boss.
‘Yeah, in that small corner, like,’ says Percy, looking at the floor, scratching the back of his neck. ‘It’s usually three to a room, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Percival, you’re correct,’ says the boss, still with the not-laughing kind of smile. ‘It is usually three to a room, but just now we haven’t an extra space to slot Tammy in.’
‘All the other rooms are full?’
‘All the other rooms are full.’
‘No one’s gone to the end of the hall lately,’ says Tammy, already trying to make a joke. No one laughs. Tammy doesn’t notice.
‘It’s only temporary, Percival,’ says the boss. ‘I trust you’ll make our newest sales representative as comfortable as your colleagues made you on your arrival.’
Maryam and I ignored Percy for a week. He replaced Karen, who had gone to the end of the hall. We hadn’t really liked her, but we were surprised she hadn’t met quota. It really isn’t a very high quota.
‘Of course, boss,’ says Percy.
‘Good,’ says the boss. ‘If you have any questions, Tammy, I’m sure these three will be more than happy to help. I’ll let you all get to work.’ He leaves without looking at anyone. Maryam from Africa gives a ‘hmph’ to the whole thing.
4
‘What you have to consider,’ I say into my headset, ‘is what would a woman like yourself do if an intruder broke in one night when you were on your own with the children?’
‘I’d call Emergency Services.’
‘What if he cut the phone lines?’
‘I’d let my rottweiler do what rottweilers do.’
‘What if he’d brought minced beef with poison in it to put your rottweiler out of commission?’
‘He’s very persistent, this intruder.’
‘They always are, madam. I assure you, it’s not a laughing matter.’
‘I’d spray him with mace.’
‘You’ve left it in the car.’
‘I don’t have a car.’
